


The mirror's tale

by PumpkinkQueen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (and even if it was...), Age Difference, Arranged Marriage, Collaboration, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is dense, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Malnutrition, Mutual Pining, Not Underage, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), aziraphale is nineteen, don't even start it, hybrid culture, if you are looking for historical accurancy ick an history book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinkQueen/pseuds/PumpkinkQueen
Summary: Once upon a time there is the mirror of a bored prince. He was a good mirror, always ready to listen to his master's problems, even on that fateful day when, out of spite, Crowley buys a slave spotted by the English ambassador Gabriel.-"He's a boy like many!" He said seriously to his reflection.Not that it was the first time he slept with a virgin lover, but for some reason it seemed almost sacrilege to touch Aziraphale.Lost in his thoughts, he entered his rooms.Aziraphale was waiting for him on the bed.Completely naked.Crowley almost stumbled on the carpet in surprise.-Story born withMultiEthat wrote to me Arabian AU in the middle of the night and I replied with the first chapter as a good morning. Don't leave us unsupervised, things happen.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 44
Kudos: 119





	1. One day, in the desert

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are finally, after a long gestation here is our Arabian AU. Love it as if it was yours.  
> Keep an eye on the tags, they may change in the future but I will always try to report it.  
> If you have a minute check [MultiE's ](https://twitter.com/multieleonora96) profile for fanart from this and other fandoms, for updates on the story follow me on socials [Tumblr - ](https://pumpkinkqueen.tumblr.com/)[Twitter - ](https://twitter.com/PumpkinkQ)[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/elisa.damico.56)

[ ](https://ibb.co/85GbWRs)

"How boring!" Crowley said, yawning conspicuously, a slave rushed to air him. "Remind me why I have to accompany you to the market, don't we pay people to this stuff?"  
His wife, Anathema, glanced over her glasses.  
"The last slave they bought without our supervision was sick and they paid too much, I won't make the same mistake twice." She sentenced.  
"Prince Crowley." Sister Faith. Her order worshipped the god of the desert and had an absolute monopoly on the slave market.  
"They instructed me to escort you personally." Crowley rolled his eyes behind the shield of his dark glasses. A gift that Anathema had brought directly from Europe. Their marriage was mostly political, but that gift made him threw every hesitation to the wind and kissed her. Then he spent the evening massaging his cheek where she hit him in response.  
"What were you looking for today?" Sister Faith asked helpfully.  
"Domestic slaves." Said Anathema firmly.  
"This way."  
The chattering order was perhaps not the most fervent of religious orders, but it had an attitude for business. Their selection of elite slaves was the first choice, they also offered all the comforts to the guests, as well as the first choice on new arrivals.  
"What about this one?" Anathema asked pointing to a tall slave which towered on others. "He has the constitution of a slave of toil."  
"Ahem." Sister Faith looked uncomfortable.  
"Speak forward!"  
“Trainers say he is clumsy. It needs to be reassigned. "  
Anathema stopped in front of him looking at him.  
"You! Where are you from?"  
"What ... I ... Europe!" The man seemed surprised that someone addressed him directly.  
"Europe where?"  
"England."  
Anathema lit up like the sun.  
"So, you can make tea."  
"I ... yes ma'am." He looked so self-conscious that he looked adorable despite his size. Crowley smiled, Anathema seemed to have a penchant for strays and that slave seemed tailor-made for her.  
The woman turned to the handmaid with a toothy smile. Crowley suspected that she bought her slaves personally just because she enjoyed bargaining. They were wealthy, but his bride loved to assert herself in an argument.  
Waiting for a price to be agreed, he wandered absentmindedly between the niches, the sisters knew well that an abused slave was not worth the chains in which he was imprisoned, so they had built that special wing, reserved for the first choice by dividing the interiors into small rooms with a missing wall replaced by bars. Inside, the slaves had a minimum of space and although they were forced into chains, at least they were given a cot.  
At the end of the corridor, there was a curtain.  
And Crowley was a curious person.  
His fingers caressed the fabric, but a voice interrupted him before he could carry on his exploration.  
"Master Crowley!"  
The prince glared at the girl with such intensity that she took a step back.  
"Ahem. In that area, guests cannot visit without supervision. "  
Crowley weighed his words. Judging by the tunic the girl must be a novice.  
"Luckily you're here to supervise me then." He gave her a smile, one of those which led many men and women to fall in temptation. Unlike many moralists, he had no shame in using his body to get his way. "What's your name?"  
"Mary Loquacious." She managed to say with her eyes stuck on the ground, her cheeks red as the sunset.  
"Perfect sister Loquacious, don't lose sight of me then!" With these words, he turned and walked to the reserved area.  
Behind him, a clatter announced that the handmaid was in fact following him in the bare corridor, after another tent he entered a new area of cells less illuminated than the previous one. Mary Loquacious' nervous steps followed closely, but he soon forgot the girl when a sudden movement made him move to the side.  
A slave tried to grab him. The man, evidently a foreigner, said something to him in an unknown language. He was short compared to Crowley with almond-shaped eyes that betrayed oriental origins.  
"Sorry, these guests have not undergone any training yet." Sister Loquacious said mortified.  
"Uhmm, I thought this wing was reserved for slaves for sale."  
"It is. Some buyers prefer ... to personally train their slaves. " Crowley's eyebrows arched blatantly but he didn't comment.  
He was aware that some men took pleasure in breaking the spirit of others.  
"How old have you said he is?" Said a severe voice ahead.  
A European nobleman dressed in an elegant grey suit was contemplating the inside of a cage further on.  
"Gabriel!" Crowley exclaimed with a sadistic smile. His day had suddenly improved.  
The man was the English ambassador in the city, and he couldn't stand the prince. A dark part of Crowley could not be helped but torment him just to see his efforts to remain calm. Their bad blood went back years; since Crowley had bought a villa on the sea, which was mean to be the ambassador's new home, only because the swimming pool was positioned to receive the breeze from the sea.  
It had not been intentional, but the way Gabriel tried to deal with him civilly but with a throbbing vein on his forehead had triggered something inside him.  
Crowley was not close enough to the throne for the real possibility that he would become sultan, but he was a very prominent figure in court and Gabriel was forced to maintain a good relationship with him.  
He was aware of having a childish behaviour, Anathema reminded him often, but the ambassador brought out the worst in him.  
"Prince Crowley." The other greeted him. Crowley had not missed how the figure of his interlocutor stiffened at the sound of his voice. "What a surprise to meet you here."  
"I escorted my wife," he said approaching. From his position, he could not see the slave Gabriel was inquiring about but he did not care, they both knew what was going to happen. "While I'm there, I thought I'd buy something personally."  
Gabriel's eyes moved quickly between him and the cell while his skin took on that purple shade that only Crowley could bring out on his pale English colouring.  
The prince stopped in front of him with an almost feral smile before turning to the cell.  
He choked on the remarkable joke he was about to make.  
Bless his new glasses so that he wasn't dazzled by the candid light that reflected on the slave's pale hair: the soft curly and tousled locks were so fair that the boy, hit by the light coming from a slit positioned at the top in the wall, seemed to have his head wrapped in a white flame.  
He was thin, underfed, but his penetrating gaze catalysed all the attention, his blue eyes met Crowley's, piercing right through him. Different slaves reacted differently in front of a potential buyer. Some, the most resilient fought the chains, others trembled like leaves, someone tried to please the eyes and others huddled to hide.  
This boy did none of it.  
His posture was straight but not stiff, he did not retract or flaunt his body.  
He was motionless, returning their looks without showing emotions.  
"I'll take him." Crowley simply stated without looking away.  
-  
"For Heave sake!!" Gabriel swore as he left the auction house like a fury.  
"Sir?" Uriel asked, standing in front of his carriage.  
"Remember my words, Uriel, I will put that little prince on his knees, be the last thing I do."  
"Dear," Anathema said with an inflexion that Crowley knew all too well.  
"Tell me, dear." Working his best to maintain a nonchalance in his voice.  
"Don't you happen to know why Ambassador Gabriel walked out of the section of untrained slaves like a tornado and soon after you left with a new slave whom I didn't know we needed."  
"It must be that time of the month for him, you know... with all the mood swings."  
"And there is no possibility that you are directly responsible for it."  
"I would never do that." Crowley put a hand to his chest pretending to be hurt. "You know me, dear, I'm an angel."  
"Yes, of those who had been thrown out from Eden for wrongdoing."  
She had an angry tone, but the shadow of a smile betrayed her.  
They had a political marriage. She descended from a large tribe of desert shamans and she studied in England, to which she had remained very fond of. Her people regulated all trade routes and were feared and respected throughout the country. Sultan Lucifer would have done literally anything to ally with them. Including sentencing Crowley to marriage.  
At the time, the boy protested for days at the idea of a marrying an older woman he never met before, he even ran away from the palace. For some time, he lived with a cute couple, Adam, and Eve, but then Lucifer found him, and he agreed to the wedding as long as the couple was spared.  
To be fair, he had been lucky, Anathema was an intelligent woman, with such sharp humour that even Crowley's brothers had learned to fear her.  
Conceiving had been a bit of a problem, but of Crowley's lovers helped him to get into the mood and somehow, they managed to bring the intercourses to the end. When Anathema announced that she was pregnant, Crowley found out that he wanted children even though he did not feel that sort of attraction for his wife.  
Fortunately, fate blessed them, and Anathema gave birth to two male twins. Their blue eyes brought out all kinds of gossip but then Anathema's father came to bless the children and it was clear to everyone from which branch of the family they took that unusual colour.  
Crowley insisted on naming one Adam, like his old friend. Anathema, who had a long tradition of strange names in her family, called the other one Warlock. Needless to say, who was the best parent.  
Now the children were eleven years old and they formed a small group with other palace boys. They were the nightmare of rulers and tutors. Crowley was very proud of them.  
They found a balance with Anathema. Both had their lovers and felt no jealousy. On the other hand, the woman turned out to be a great accomplice on a lot of occasions. With her studies and contacts in Europe, where she studied for several years, she helped Crowley set up his own business which made him independent of his family. He quickly became the highest authority in wine's export.  
Everything was going well. He was rich enough to have his own palace. Finding some company in bed was not an issue. His wife did not demand a relationship with him, and he had two children smart enough to train their dog to steal treats.  
And now he also had a new slave.  
He watched the boy carefully on the way back. Where Newt, Anathema's new slave, kept his eyes stuck to the ground, Aziraphale, this was his name, had his nose glued to the window, completely forgetting his new owners who exchanged amused looks on the other seat.  
When they got home, Anathema grinned openly as she greeted him.  
"Take it easy with him, try to break it."  
"Nobody ever complained!" Crowley yelled after her blushing.  
Aziraphale looked at him eyeful but he did not spell a word.  
He followed him silently through the bright corridors. Crowley entrusted him to the care of the maids, ordering them to take him to the bathrooms and find new clothes for him.  
He decided to take a relaxing bath as well to get rid of the desert dust and relax a little.  
In an attempt to buy himself some time, he ordered a hot bath to be prepared. It might seem strange that in the sweltering heat someone wanted to dive in a tub of boiling water, but Crowley was not just anyone. Between day and night in the desert there was a huge gap in temperature and when the sun started to set it was not uncommon for him to immerse himself in a hot bath to get under heavy blankets.  
He liked the heat, weird as it is. If it weren’t for his pale skin, he would spend hours roasting under the sun. Unfortunately, he was fast in turning red and he was forced to love the sun from the shade.  
He felt strangely tense as he stared in the flickering light of candles. He had countless lovers over the years but for some reason, this little boy was making him nervous. The mere idea of touching that very clear body made his heart beat faster than a drum. He hadn't been so nervous even his first time.  
Which made him realize one thing.  
The boy was certainly a virgin, he would have bet on it his glasses.  
Not that it was the first time he slept with an untouched lover, but for some reason, it seemed almost sacrilege to touch Aziraphale.  
He made a strangled cry and dipped his head under the water to calm the burning fire that invaded his cheeks.  
Unfortunately, when he came out of the water his mind was still wandering. His brain rationally told him that it was sex, not torture, there was nothing wrong, everyone did it since the beginning of time, he, as a matter of fact, was an expert. Yet, as he thought of those eyes so clear and penetrating, he began to feel too tight in his skin, like a girl at the first crush.   
"He's a boy like everyone else!" He said seriously to his reflection. The full-length mirror was another of its points of pride, there weren't many in that part of the world. He was not a modest man, even at that moment, he looked at himself in the mirror, completely naked appreciating the lines of his body. His long crimson hair stood out against his skin-tone framing his face. With a twinge, he met his own eyes in the reflection. His curse. As the slaves, who were to dress him, approached, he quickly put on his glasses.  
His condition was well known, but although he was refractory to derision, the colour of his eyes was an exposed nerve and not a living soul saw them for over decades.  
Lost in his thoughts, he entered his rooms.  
Aziraphale was waiting for him on the bed.  
Completely naked.  
Crowley almost stumbled on the carpet in surprise.  
The boy was stretched out between the covers, the white skin that stood out beautifully on the scarlet fabric. His eyes were closed but he was certainly not sleeping, his forehead was frowning and his jaw stiff.  
Looking more closely at him Crowley noticed that he was clenching his fists and that he was shaking slightly.  
He was scared.  
He had spent some time in the slave trade, had seen two men bargain for his body and had finally been bought, all this without blinking. But now that he was lying on Crowley's bed, he was afraid.  
He didn't like this thought one bit.  
He moved to the bed, sitting on the opposite side, put out the candle that dimly lit the room before taking off his glasses and, letting go of a sigh, raised the covers and lay down under it. Fumbling, he took the mask from the bedside table, it was a fine piece of cloth that he had made to sew specifically for the night, it covered his eyes and a cord blocked it on the back of his head.  
The movement made Aziraphale jump, the prince felt the blue eyes on him, full of questions.  
_Not that I have answers_ thought Crowley, we are all confused here.


	2. The apple does not fall far away from the tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day after Aziraphale's arrival. Featuring apples, children, Crowley's hot associate and Lucifer!

[ ](https://ibb.co/LSnzKgf)

In the quiet domestic silence of the dining room, the lady and the lord of the house were having the first meal of the day. Crowley was not one of those morning people; actually, it was a rare occurrence for him to be up so early, yet the prince emerged from his rooms even before the servants wake him to remind him of the important meeting that would take place that day.

Anathema, on the other hand, was always awake early in the morning and her clever mind worked at full capacity from the initial hours of the day.

As now, while she peered at her husband.

"More tea?" Newt asked, bowing his head.

"No thanks, it's delicious anyway." She said without taking her eyes off Crowley.

The man kept his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. His gaze was almost angry, but with a note of melancholy as if he were facing a problem, he already knew he could not solve.

Anathema had a suspicion about what thoughts tormented him: although she wasn't sure what the dilemma might be, she had reasonable certainty that they were going around a certain blond-haired boy.

"Did you had a pleasant night, dear?" She asked, keeping herself vague on purpose.

Crowley jumped as he had been hit and looked at her with the wide eyes of prey.

Anathema raised both of her eyebrows hit by an idea.

"You didn't…"

"I am done!" Crowley announced as he stood up and retreated before being publicly shamed by his consort's sharp tongue.

Anathema's incredulous laugh hunted him on his way to the entrance, he was generally not very enthusiastic about going to the royal palace but in this specific moment, it seemed the lesser evil.

-

Aziraphale had had his gaze lost in the orange juice for a while.

He was aware of people busy in the kitchen around him, but his mind was far away. After his parents died when he was barely five years old, leaving him with nothing, he lived in an orphanage. Then one night the director with the tutor had woken him up with a couple of other boys in a hurry together. They had been loaded onto a carriage and thus his slavery had begun. The journey across the sea had been horrible, one of the other slaves died during the crossing and they had been unable to do anything to prevent it.

His permanence at slavery house had been a little bit better but the stories started there. Some slaves were not at first experience like him and they told him that if a master leads you to his bed it was for one reason only.

So, the night before he waited for the arrival of the strange red-haired man who had bought him. He was scared and he had no idea in how to behave, he had stripped himself of the light tunic they gave him, and he lay down on the bed.

Crowley, that was the name the woman with the glasses used to call him, arrived after a while, but he just looked at him for a moment before getting under the sheets.

And it ended there.

He woke up that morning to the sound of the prince getting dressed.

"Accompany him in the kitchen." Ordered the prince noting that he was awake, but then he went out and Aziraphale didn't meet him again.

Mrs Tracy had a gentle smile and gave him a treat too, but Aziraphale barely tasted it. He didn't want to bother so he left the kitchen already in turmoil for the lunch. He probably took the wrong turn because he found himself in a garden. He looked around lost, he didn't even know if he could stay there but he wasn't sure how to go back.

Finally, he decided to find someone to ask for directions, but the garden seemed deserted. It probably was somewhere in the back of the house, the grass was green and well-kept, some scattered trees dotted the lawn and a thicker forest of logs obscured the rear wall. Other trees near the house obscured the view making the place isolated and silent.

That was why Aziraphale caught the two voices whispering in a bush.

_"Did he see us?"_

_"Of course not, but if you don't shut up, he'll hear us."_

"Is anybody there?" Aziraphale asked aloud.

_"What did I tell you?"_

_"Sshh!"_

"Please, I'm lost, I'm new here."

His words were greeted by silence, but after a moment, a sound of rustling leaves announced the arrival of a child, followed immediately by a second one. Both with red apples in their hands.

"Adam!" The second kid said pulling the other by the sleeve. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. My name is Adam. " He said holding out his hand.

Aziraphale looked at him surprised, they drilled into his head over and over again that certain gestures of courtesy were not intended for slaves.

"Aziraphale." He introduced himself shaking the small hand.

“This is my brother, Warlock. You are the slave that my father bought yesterday. " It wasn't a question, but Aziraphale still found himself nodding.

"You shouldn't be here." Adam weighed his words peering at him. "And neither should we." Finally, he said. "If you keep the secret, we will take you to our father's quarters."

"I don't think we can trust him." Warlock said nervously to his brother.

"Please, I won't tell anyone."

Aziraphale looked at them pleadingly and finally, Adam turned to the house, gesturing for him to follow. Warlock left alone, couldn't help but adapt. Entering the house, the children hide apples under their tunics as they stealthily looked around.

Most of the busy servants they met didn't mind them and when they finally entered a corridor that Aziraphale recognized as the one for the Prince's room he thought they made it, but he was wrong.

"Stop there!" A hostile voice nailed them. "Adam and Warlock! You should be in class; don't tell me you sneak into Master Crowley's private garden again to steal apples?" The man who stopped them was angry, in his eyes, there was a spark of malice that immediately made Aziraphale uncomfortable. He seemed almost happy to have caught them.

What a horrible man.

"No, Mr Tyler," Adam replied keeping his composure. "We only accompanied Aziraphale who got lost." Warlock did not seem so calm with his eyes that bounced from the newcomer to his brother.

Moved with compassion, Aziraphale came forward: "It's true, sir, I asked the boys to help me." He said placing himself between Mr Tyler and the two children.

"Aziraphale huh? And who are you supposed to be? One of their little friends? Do they secretly let you in? What do you want? I bet you stole something. " He came forward threateningly, holding out his hands with hooked fingers. Aziraphale drew back frightened but keeping the children behind him.

"Mr Tyler!" Called out an imperious voice.

The man's face instantly changed, while his hands stopped one palm away from Aziraphale and only after a moment slowly receding.

The boy watched the beautiful landlady march in the corridor with an irritated expression and his arms crossed, unfailingly following behind her was the high slave who had been purchased with him.

"Your Highness." Tyler prostrated himself, lowering his head but not his eyes. "I was just dealing with an intruder, I'm afraid he convinced the young masters to go along with him, you know that their well-being is my priority."

Anathema's gaze narrowed further. "That intruder, is my husband's new slave, I trust that you are aware of the consequences should something happen to him because of you, not even your position could save you from the wrath of the prince."

"But my lady, my intentions were for the best, I hold to the little princes as if they were my children."

"Instead, they are my children and this conversation ends here, I am sure you have many jobs to take care of, have good day."

"To you my lady." The man turned around passing Aziraphale and the children, he had not even finished turning his back on Anathema that his smile disappeared replaced by a rancorous look that gave Aziraphale the shivers.

He felt comfortable looking away only when the man disappeared around the corner.

"Guys?" Anathema was still there, however, and her gaze was now on the trio. Even though frowning, the hardness disappeared from her face and the corner of the mouth was almost bent into a smile.

"Good morning mother," Adam said keeping his cheeky face. "Thanks for clearing up the misunderstanding, Mr Tyler must have misunderstood our intentions."

"Sure." Commented the woman sarcastic, moving her eyes to the slave. "Did you just rush to rescue the poor Aziraphale?"

“Absolutely mother. We would never miss our lessons otherwise. " Warlock said, now that Tyler was gone, he seemed his swagger was back and had a mischievous smile just like his brother.

"And where did you meet him?" The woman asked without concealing her victory smile.

The two brothers exchanged a glance, they hadn't agreed on a version, luckily, Aziraphale was ready.

"Just outside the kitchen, lady." He said quickly, to prevent someone from giving another version. "I must have taken a wrong turn, I think, this house is so big ..." He dropped the explanation making a vague gesture, the lies were not easy, but he had made a promise to the two boys and he had to kept it. He just hoped that the woman would accept it.

"Oh, that's it?" Anathema looked at him with a hint of surprise on the delicate features. She underestimated that young boy who reduced her husband to a teenager at the first crush. Amused, she decided to let it go. "Very well, luckily everything worked out for the best, I guess Warlock and Adam could show you the house after their lessons, to avoid future wandering."

"Sure!" Warlock exclaimed in relief.

"Leave it to us!" Adam was wearing a crafty gaze, his young mind already set in the planning of the next prank.

"Anyway, now spin, Miss Ashtoreth has been waiting for you two for an hour!"

The two boys ran away giggling, almost risking bumping into a servant who turned the corner with a load of fabrics. The man leaned against the wall so as not to fall and the two rascals did not even slow down shouting their apologies over one shoulder. Aziraphale found himself inadvertently smiling in front of the scene without noticing Anathema's determined gaze, the little prince Adam must have inherited his quick mind from someone and was certainly not the father. An image was forming in the woman's mind about the role of the young slave in their home.

-

Crowley arrived early at the palace so was his haste to leave the house. He couldn't believe he would ever find himself in this position. The night had been a nightmare, he woke up with Aziraphale's warm body pressed against his back and the boy's quiet breathing on his skin. He started to withdraw instinctively but outside it seemed dark and he feared the bite of the cold, in that niche, under the covers that embraced their bodies, there was a mesmeric warmth. Crowley previously threw more than one lover out of his bed because it was too hot. He loved the warmth but did not like the sweat and made no secret of it. This time around, for a faithful coincidence, Aziraphale was also perfect in this aspect, he did not fidget in his sleep and Crowley would bet the glasses that embracing him, he would perfectly adapt to his body. Since the night before he made his decision to do not touch the boy, he turned his back on him, but he ended up regretting it.

He felt the unleashed desire to see him without the dark filter of the lenses, the colour of that almost white hair had to be as beautiful as it was rare and he was curious to observe their skins in comparison. He always had a fair skin tone compared to his compatriots, but the boy curled up against him was so pale that he looked like an angel with those blue eyes of his.

The eyes…

Although it was logically almost impossible, he had to find a way to see that blue with his bare eyes.

The long night hours passed slowly, for the prince who wandered between sleep and wakefulness, too tense to sleep peacefully and too tired to give up.

The first light of dawn found him exhausted and defeated while calling his servants to get dressed.

So now, walking through the royal palace, he was in a bad mood. He hated a large part of his family, and the sentiment was widely reciprocated, but nobody dared face him too openly because he was notoriously the favourite son of Sultan Lucifer. His father was a strange man, even for the standards of their family, he used to have countless concubines and an unknown number of wives, not to mention the crowd of men who warmed his bed. All of this stopped a decade ago when he met a young scholar from Europe and fell head over heels in love with her.

Crowley, at the time, was a child, he did not remember everything clearly: the girl, Chloe, adapted with great difficulty to their customs to stay with Lucifer and the latter, unable to give up his previous wives, simply stopped sharing the bed with them. His harem gradually dissolved, and now the couple lived happily. They had had a little girl, Trixie, who was currently in Europe studying and she returned every summer; she was very close to Crowley's twins and the red-haired prince also had a soft spot for his little sister. Public opinion was not very happy with the situation, but Lucifer had many children of Arabian blood ready to take up his inheritance, so the protests calmed down.

The firstborn was Beelzebub.

"Speaking of the devil," Crowley commented in a low voice as he entered the porch. His half-brother came to meet him from the opposite direction, his black hair and dark robes that contrasted with the white colonnade.

"Brother!" He exclaimed aloud with sarcasm leaking everywhere. "What a pleasant surprise to meet you on this radiant morning." He gave him a French reverence fluttering his hand under the nose of his brother who was looking at him livid.

Beelzebub had an inferiority complex towards him as bright as the sun. According to Anathema because although he was the heir Lucifer preferred Crowley to him. According to Crowley, it was because he was a whole head taller than him.

To compensate Beelzebub started to wear turbans that gave him a few centimetres more, but the only effect was to make the situation even more ridiculous.

"Crowley." He spat out the black-haired prince as a greeting. "I was beginning to believe you weren't aware that the world exists before noon."

Lovable as always.

But Crowley was a good opponent.

“But brother, and deprive me of the joy of your company? Never!"

Engaged in their exchange, they reached the hearing chamber. Their brothers with various palace officials and other members of the royal family were already gathering in the usual small groups dictated by political convenience. That was the part Crowley hated. That dance of pleasantries forced by the fluctuating political conveniences: while accepting greetings he tried to maintain a neutral expression but he could read the intentions of his interlocutors like a book. He was aware of his reputation, the son of a foreign concubine who then ran away leaving that demonic-looking son behind, his royal blood made him untouchable, but the real reason for so much hatred towards him lay in the fact that he dared be successful. The company he founded was the only one to have a direct connection both with Europe and with the indigenous tribes from the desert, and the fact that he included some new-generation riches among his associates was difficult to swallow for the nobles conservatives of his father's court.

"Good morning!" Someone greeted him surprising him.

It was Gabriel.

Crowley nearly found himself staring at him, his mouth wide open.

"Good morning." He answered quickly, wondering what was wrong with the ambassador. Their relationship was based on the mutual exchange of arrows and spite, they weren't used to having a civil conversation. Not even for business sake.

Yet Gabriel seemed determined in this sense: "Cold for this period don't you think?" He said vaguely pointing to a window.

"That's true," agreed Crowley hesitantly, "hopefully it won't harm the crops." He added uncertainly trying to control his expression.

An awkward silence fell as Crowley thought about what else to say. The surprise sabotaged his usual ease, and he found himself passing the weight from one foot to another looking around.

Finally, Gabriel seemed to run out of patience and got to the point.

"That slave," he said suddenly, "turned out to be satisfactory I hope." He said with a fake smile.

Here's what he wanted. Crowley became even more cautious if possible. He felt a surge of protective instinct for Aziraphale, although he knew him less than twenty-four hours earlier.

"Definitely a sudden purchase I have to agree, but I absolutely do not regret the money spent." He took note of a small crack in Gabriel's cordial expression with childish satisfaction. It disappeared immediately, and the man's smile returned intact when as he spoke again.

"I hope that his inexperience was not a problem, I know very well the problems that a slave can give without the proper training. Can you believe that, some time ago, I bought a girl who told me a tearful story about her dying mother to convince me to free her?"

Crowley had to simulate a cough to mask his stunned expression. He never heard the man make such a long speech, especially addressed to him!

His amazement distracted him for a moment, and he realized that the ambassador asked him a question.

"Come again? Forgive me, you know I didn't sleep so much."

Gabriel's jaw was stiff as he repeated making a visible effort to remain calm. "I said: I hope nothing like this has happened to you."

"Oh, how nice of you!" Crowley said clapping his hands with a bright smile. "Don't worry, however, there wasn't much time to chat last night!"

_Technically, it is true_ though the prince.

Gabriel looked like someone who swallowed a lemon with all its peel. Even with his diplomatic skills as an ambassador, he was able to endure Crowley only in small doses. With a nod, he greeted the prince and left.

The episode put Crowley in a good mood and the day only improved with the approach of his business partner.

"Was that Gabriel?" Lucien asked with wide eyes still fixed on the ambassador's back.

"Lucien! You missed one of my best performances! " Crowley said as they hugged each other. They had been lovers in the past, but although it was a life-old story they maintained a deep affection for each other.

"I suppose you should tell me about it one of these days, Alec keeps asking me when you would come to visit us."

"Oh, really? Second thoughts about the man he choose? " Crowley teased him mischievously.

"In your dreams!" Lucien retorted him with a threatening streak. He became a terribly jealous lover for the man who introduced Crowley to the joys of sex without attachments, but on the other hand, Alec was the reason Lucien no longer shared the bed with Crowley... or anyone else.

Lucifer entered with a crowd of servants interrupting their exchange. With a nod he greeted Beelzebub who went to meet him at the door, but then his eyes stopped on Crowley and he walked over his heir after a brief greeting to address the redhead.

"Am I dreaming? My degenerate son is awake before lunchtime. I didn't think I would live to see this day. Good morning also to you, Sir Lucien. " He said patting him on the shoulder.

"We are all surprised, the world could end in the afternoon," Lucien commented, unleashing the sultan's laugh.

"I am the humble servant of your majesty, you call I run," Crowley replied with another of his sarcastic reverences. It was terribly difficult to imprint the sarcasm in the movements without looking forced, Crowley practised for a long time in front of his mirror to make the gesture natural.

Needless to say, he was extremely satisfied with the result.

"How's your wife?" Lucifer asked, settling on the throne.

"She commands me like a general, sometimes I forget I'm a prince in my own house." Crowley sighed, bringing a hand to his chest.

"It's the fate of married men." Lucifer said, and after a moment he added looking around worried: "Don't tell Chloe I said that."

The sultan was a jovial man. In love with life but also devoted to his people, it was no exaggeration to say that his subjects would forgive him everything.

There were no urgent matters to deal with, but Lucifer periodically gathered all the closest family members and the highest officials able to -feel the pulse of the kingdom- as he said. The issue at the centre of political debate was commerce with England. Since they had a permanent ambassador to the palace, the British pressed to have a favourable treatment compared to other nations, but Lucifer did not agree. He had a rich and prosperous land, and no interest in creating tensions with other nations to make the ruler of a distant island happy.

Besides, most of the businesses with Europe were run by the company Crowley founded with Lucien after he got married. It started as a niche trade, mostly based on the export of wines but they had instant success and it quickly expanded to own a fleet of ships that regularly plied the waters loaded with all kinds of goods.

As a final touch, he reached the desert tribes, very close to external contacts, but Anathema was the daughter of the most influential tribal head, and they had secured the exclusivity.

-

Gabriel walked out of the meeting at a fast pace. He was furious and couldn't stand to meet other members of the royal family for today.

Behind him, Uriel hurried to keep up and jerked forward to open the carriage's door.

"These Arabs!" The ambassador exploded as the vehicle started moving. "They have sand in the head, I'm telling you!" Uriel knew well that it was useless to interfere in these outbursts of anger, Gabriel did not address anyone except the adverse fate in those moments.

"How can they not understand the enormous fortune to have so much importance for our queen? Why am I wasting my days in this dusty desert?! I should be in Buckingham palace to enjoy my inheritance! And instead, I have to run after that carrot bastard. But of all the people who live in this city, it had to be him to enter that damned corridor yesterday? Years of careful planning, more money than the human mind can conceive, and a business that extends beyond the sea! All of this at risks collapsing because of the hundreds of slaves that we have imported in recent years he had to ha had to go and buy the only one who no one should touch! Ah, but I'll kill him! If he thinks that I will go without taking him with me, he is very wrong! "

Emptied, the man fell back on the seat.

"What should I answer to Master Michael?" Uriel asked quietly.

"Nothing! This situation must not reach the European headquarters. I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

-

Across the city, Crowley's ears were ringing. He was tired and hungry. Between one question and another, lunchtime passed, and he learned at his own expense not to accept food outside the house.

Wearily he went to the kitchen where he found his cook bent over a cooking pot.

"Mrs Tracy," he said tiredly.

"Oh lord of the desert!" The woman exclaimed, startling. "Master Crowley you scared me!" The woman peered at him with a disapproving look. “You look awful! Sit down and eat something."

Crowley was master in his home, but not in the kitchen, he respected the authority of the woman who ran an army of assistants with an iron fist.

Soon he was faced with an assortment of cheeses, fresh fruit and fluffy savoury rolls. The tasty food gave him energy back and brushed everything off in good taste. Towards the end of the meal, he realized that the woman seemed on the verge to say something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift a finger and then change her mind, a minute later she turned with her lips already outstretched in one word but she let it go again.

"Please speak, it is a torment to witness your indecision." Finally, he said exasperated.

"It's about the new boy, Aziraphale." This immediately caught the attention of the prince. "Here, I thought he was much younger, but they told me that he is nineteen years old, he doesn't eat enough, even this morning he drank the juice and barely touched the bread. I am worried about him, it is clear that he did not receive adequate nutrition for such a young boy, at that age, they have to feed a lot to cope with their metabolism."

An unpleasant sensation lurked deep in Crowley's stomach; he didn't like the idea that Aziraphale was undernourished even a little.

"I will take action immediately, thanks for bringing the matter to my attention, behave as you think for his meals, I will check that he eats everything!"

With new determination, he ventured in search of his little blond headache, but a surprise awaited him.

Aziraphale was in the children's room. Adam seemed intent on telling him something while Warlock combed his hair. The scene was so strange that the prince stopped at the door to look completely unnoticed.

"What do you think about it?" Anathema asked him, approaching.

"Is it your doing?"

“The boys followed all their lessons carefully because I promised them that they could play with Aziraphale later. They were here all afternoon; Adam even ate vegetables to keep me from taking back my promise."

Crowley looked at her in amazement.

The situation was getting more and more interesting.


	3. Left unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is slowly adapting to his new life but his new owner is still a mystery to him. To be fair, Crowley is a mystery to himself as well.  
> -  
> As you may have noticed by the cover there will be some interesting development in this chapter.  
> We placed an Easter egg in this chapter, if you find it you win a preview on a hot scene which will take place further in the story.

[](https://ibb.co/9vhcWbs)

The children captivated Aziraphale. They were young but very smart: as twins, they couldn't be more different. Where Adam had a quick mind always looking for an adventure, Warlock was fascinated by court life. Yet they were somewhat complementary, and the young slave trembled at the idea of what they could do, but at the same time, it was a pleasure to watch them do their own thing.  
In the afternoon they showed him the house, but it turned somewhat in an unusual tour, the two boys seemed more interested in showing him hiding places and secret passages than the main rooms. Aziraphale didn't have so much fun in ages, probably since before the orphanage; he had few memories of that period, but they were all happy even if wrapped in a veil of nostalgia.  
The lady of the house, Miss Anathema, seemed to approve of the sympathy the children had for Aziraphale and let them take him to their room before dinner to play together. Ha was not very practiced in games, but it hadn't been a problem, Adam invented new ones continuously and Warlock applied himself to put his brother's ideas into practice. They explored the library of the house, chasing each other among the shelves, then Aziraphale found a book that he remembered reading as a child: it was the story of the adventures of a pirate. Anathema found them in a corner of the library, Aziraphale sitting on a windowsill and the two children close to his sides to peek at the drawings while the slave read the story to them.  
"So, you can read?" She asked surprised, and Aziraphale nodded, too in awe to speak.  
That was his master's wife and he was his bed slave ... wasn't there a conflict of interest? However, the woman did not seem to have resentment towards him, she helped them with Mr Tyler and even now she was smiling at him with approval.  
"Guys, it's not good to read in the shade, why don't you choose a couple of books and go with Aziraphale to your room?" The boys exploded dragging the blonde away. They didn't have much knowledge about books because they left him a free choice on the volumes in question. Aziraphale found a good book about an explorer and a sailing book, as his new companions seemed so interested in sea life, and the rest of the afternoon flown by.  
By the evening Adam was telling him a funny story about how they discovered the apple tree in the garden, inventing a good part of it because the slave was certain that there were no dragons in the perimeter of the house. Warlock seemed fascinated by his hair, he had started to brush them causing a strange reaction in Aziraphale: the delicate fingers divided the strands giving him a pleasant tingling on the nape, he was tempted to rub his head against those involuntary caresses and he found himself repressing the impulse, embarrassed.  
He vaguely remembers fingers caressing him on the head while a sweet voice sang for him, but he couldn't remember anything but a bite of dull pain in the heart.  
He pushed his thoughts away noticing two figures on the door.  
His master returned and was speaking with his wife as they watched them.  
His eyes met those mysterious black lenses that Prince Crowley never took off.  
"Dad!" Called Warlock, Adam spun around, and the two children flew into the arms of the prince who bent down to welcome them.  
"Today we showed the house to Aziraphale." One said to him. "He read us a book on pirates." The other said almost speaking over his brother. Crowley listened to them for a while with an amused smile, commenting from time to time fuelling the enthusiasm of his children.  
"And then he cut his hand and threw it to the crocodile!" Adam finished while Warlock was exulting.  
"Oh, dear." Crowley laughed, ruffling his hair. "But didn't you want to be a pirate?"  
"He can think about it tonight," Anathema said stepping forward. "Come on, kids, say it's time to go to sleep."  
The children went away with their mother, greeting and complaining, but they actually looked tired.  
"Aziraphale," Crowley called him. "Come with me."  
They walked together towards the prince's rooms, but the prince did not start talking again until the door closed behind them.  
"I spoke to the cook, Ms Tracy." He said cryptically. "She wants to prepare a diet for you, you need to get back on your feet." He made no mention of slavery, but it remained hovering in the air. "I want you to eat everything that she prepares you, okay?" He had come close but Aziraphale didn't feel as scared as the day before.  
Seeing the prince with his children somehow overshadowed the stories of his fellow slaves. He didn't see any wickedness in that man, let alone it while inflicting pain out of sadistic pleasure.  
He felt safe.  
But as he approached, Crowley moved away to the bed, changing the subject.  
"My wife tells me that you are educated and that you can read." He said.  
"Yes, sir," Aziraphale answered.  
“It is her wish that you spend time with the children, she says that they like you and that you even convinced them to pick up a book. Notable in my opinion. I cannot hide that I'm relieved to know them in the company of a trusted person. I can count on you?"  
Aziraphale was surprised. It wasn't an order. He was asking him, kindly moreover. Aziraphale did not remember the last time someone asked for his opinion on something.  
"Yes, sir!" He hurried to respond, perhaps with too much enthusiasm. Crowley smiled approvingly at him as he moved the blankets.  
"You must be tired." He said lying down. "Let's rest, tomorrow I will make arrangements for nanny Ashtoreth to get you a selection of books that you can read with them."  
Aziraphale lay down on his side of the large bed, which was an understatement considering it could fit four adult men easily.  
Crowley turned off the last lamp, then he took off his glasses and arranged the strange piece of shaped cloth that he wore on his face at night. As sleep fell on him Aziraphale looked at the prince's relaxed profile: what did he want from him?  
-  
The life inside the palace slowly adapted to his new inhabitant. Ms Tracy, true to her words, continued with her special diet and the boy soon took on a healthier appearance, his cheeks filled up and his tunics no longer fell on him shapeless. The children loved him, dragging him around like a pet and even their strict teacher, Nanny Ashtoreth, appreciated the calm intelligence of her new pupil; despite the evident holes in his education, the boy absorbed information from books like a sponge and it was not unusual to find him with his nose glued to the pages.  
Another person enchanted by the young slave was undoubtedly the gardener, brother Francis, before his arrival he had worked hard to keep the restless children away from Master Crowley's flowers. Instead, Aziraphale had to mention only once how beautiful he found them, and Adam and Warlock not only kept the flower out of their destructive games but on a couple of occasions they also helped Francis with this or that commission. To thank the slave for indirect help he started to put fresh flowers in the prince's room every day and Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.  
Tayler watched the blonde attract everyone's sympathies with ill-concealed contempt. Hidden in the shadows and peering from behind the corners, his grudging eyes rarely left the small figure, the sole focus of his resentment.  
Closed in his small room he grudges for hours, cursing against the sick fortune of the boy who slept on soft blankets while he had only that miserable little room.  
"It's all a game of lasciviousness and perdition." He mumbled nervously pacing back and forth. “With those full lips and white skin, he seduced the prince, pretending to be innocent. Who knows how many dozens of men that whore welcomed between his legs, nobody sees him for what he really is! I will be able to catch him out sooner or later!"  
Animated by his personal crusade, he followed Aziraphale, occasionally speaking with him. It would be easy to get the slave to reveal his game if could manage somehow to get his trust, but the boy was smart and he must have seen that Tayler was after him: he was uncomfortable in his presence and slipped away at the first chance.  
Stupid kid, he didn't know who he was dealing with.  
-  
Days went by and Crowley's dilemma grew. He started to wake up horny every morning, given the forced abstinence he had undergone since the arrival of Aziraphale. Not even to mention that the mere idea of going with someone else seemed to him like cheating.  
So, he had no choice but to take care of himself on his own hoping that his crush would fade. Yet his body seemed not to happy with his plan, the boy seemed more and more attractive to him every day. His children talk about him all the time and his wife decided to torment him with sadistic satisfaction.  
Having Aziraphale sleeping close to him didn't help; even in the big bed, the boy always seemed to find his way snuggling him in his sleep; his nightgown that, left uncovered handkerchiefs of white skin which look so tasty to the frustrated prince.  
Crowley groaned as he came, his pleasure mixed with the warm water of his bathroom while the prince regained his breath with his face hidden against his arm folded on the edge of the tub. Even in the intimacy of his bathroom, he burned with shame for his thoughts and actions.  
He felt sorry for himself, reduced to a mass of hormones like some sort of teenager; he could recall being so on edge not even in his youth. He even covered his beloved mirror to hide his shame.  
Tired, he holed up under the covers trying to ignore the movements on the other side of the mattress.  
Dawn found him immersed in restful sleep. He hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time, fresh and rested, curled up in a warm cocoon, he was so comfortable that he could easily fall back asleep. He sighed happily clutching Aziraphale's warm body against himself.  
His eyes widened in horror.  
"Master?" A sleepy voice asked him near his Adam's apple. A certain part of his body woke up at the warm caress of Aziraphale's breath on his neck.  
Crowley threw a strangled moan, falling backwards out of bed dragging blankets and pillows behind him. He emerged from that pile of fine fabrics to meet the sleepy eyes of a confused Aziraphale. The blonde pulled himself up on one elbow trying to focus on the floor, he sported tousled hair and an uncovered shoulder.  
Crowley gritted his teeth as the blood flowed down in a torrent-like stream.  
"I... good morning." He said quickly, picking up an armful of blankets as he got up walking weirdly to keep his legs wide. "I think I'll be out all day today." He stammered trudging towards the exit. "Now that I think about it, don't wait for me tonight, I'll see you... well, I'll see you." He closed the door behind him cursing. Then he tugged a piece of blanket that was stuck in the door.  
It couldn't get any worse than this.  
-  
Three days had gone by and they hadn't seen each other.  
That weird mixture of hope and fear that had always come with the thoughts directed to his master faded until only a strange dissatisfaction was left in the young slave. Aziraphale struggled to understand the man: he hadn't bought him for his body, that much was clear, yet he continued to call him in his bed every evening; at least until that fateful morning when they woke up cuddling. Then the prince disappeared and Aziraphale hadn't any news about him ever since.  
Part of him was relieved. Intimacy caused him an indefinite fear which he had yet to come to terms with. Anyway, it was not a problem because his new owner seemed totally uninterested in a physical relationship with him. The slave got no doubt about it: that morning, although he disappeared so precipitously, Aziraphale didn't miss Crowley's horrified look. The boy wound never call himself handsome, but he didn't feel repugnant either.  
He felt rejected.  
His brain ran circles looking for answers to questions he didn't want to ask. Crowley bought him after all, so he must have some interests; the boy didn't grasp the details, but the prince actions could be motivated by the evident hostility between him and Aziraphale's former buyer. That could be a good explanation if not for the fact that Crowley insisted on sharing the bed with him.  
Aziraphale didn't know what to do with this information. Especially since he slept alone in the last three nights. Having no other place to go, he kept returning to the Prince's chambers and the other servants continued to bring him clean clothes there; but the large bed that seemed so welcoming at the beginning was now alien to him.  
At least during the day, he could get some distraction.  
One of his favourite places in the house was the swimming pool. It was built in an internal courtyard; a beautiful porch, furnished with deckchairs and sofas circumscribed its perimeter, with some niches full of pillows nested in the corners. Windows and narrow balconies overlooked the surrounding walls without obscuring the sunlight. Although it was theoretically the coldest season, the heat was so strong to make the pool really attractive. Adam and Warlock were playing in the water with their friends under Aziraphale's attentive gaze, their laughter filling the air resonating throughout the house. Anathema had also joined them with his silent companion, Newt did not speak much but had a kind demeanour and Aziraphale loved to chat with him. The woman took a seat on the other side of the pool of water, sipping coloured juice while reading a book.  
Occasionally she ran her hand through Newt's hair, the man was kneeling on a pillow by her side, caught in reading an old book open on his legs. The slave had been wearing a sort of collar for several days now, he did not seem uncomfortable and when the woman's hand landed on his hair he unconsciously smiled.  
At some point, Aziraphale realized that he was staring at them and tried to bring his attention back to the children who improvised a swimming competition.  
Despite the effort to distract himself, however, the boy's eyes inevitably return on the couple. A strange sensation stirred deep in his stomach; one he wasn't able to identify it.  
The ill-mood settled on him all day, Ms Tracy prepared buns for lunch, stuffed with meat and vegetables, they let out a delicious smell, but the boy barely touched them under the woman's concerned eyes. In the afternoon he spent a couple of hours with brother Francis taking care of the plants around the house; because of his complexion he was not allowed to spend a lot of time outside, but the gardener gladly accepted his company while carrying out work inside the large house, but his heart couldn’t find any peace.  
-  
Crowley, in his desperate attempt to buy time, almost barricaded himself inside the old quarters he shared with Anathema before the birth of the twins; but after a few days, he began to feel trapped within those four walls and seek refuge outside the house.  
"You want to talk about business?" Lucien asked sceptically.  
"Sure!" Crowley replied with a way too much enthusiasm for his demeanour. "We run an important commercial company, that's normal!"  
Lucien looked him over. "Crowley, last year I had to ambush you in your house to make the annual accounts, you certainly have an intuition for business and innovative ideas, but having small talk about trading... how can I say this... it doesn't sound like something you would do." The English gentleman grew accustomed to the extravagant outings of his old friend and yet the prince with the fiery red hair never stopped surprising him.  
“Nonsense come on! Let's talk!" The prince shushed him with a drawn smile.  
Lucien shrugged; he didn't know what was going on but he could play the game. He met Crowley when he was a teenager, he was the type of person who spoke only of his own free will, indulge him was certainly more effective than questioning him.  
“Very well, what do you think about the carpet trade? Lately, they use this new double-wire technique which makes them heavier but also more colourful. " He gave Crowley a lovable smile.  
The prince replied with an empty look.  
"Heavier..." he said with a frown.  
"But colourful."  
"Colourful…"  
Lucien nodded condescendingly.  
Crowley stirred under the penetrating gaze of those clear eyes until he exploded.  
"All right! I don't care about carpets! "  
"It took less than usual; it must be serious." The third occupant of the room finally spoke. Crowley's attention focused on Alec, who was busy peeling fruit sitting at the large table that occupied all the space against the opposite wall. He was a quiet man outside his home, nothing more than a shadow who followed Lucien with discreet loyalty on public occasions, wrapped almost entirely in layers of cloth, who rushed to the slightest hint of his master without however ever speaking a word with strangers.  
Crowley smiled benevolently at him despite the difference in rank. His heart warmed to see him at ease enough to adopt a wardrobe fit to the suffocating warmth, canvas trousers and a simple cream shirt surrounded his chest revealing his arms covered with old faded scars.  
"Let me guess," said Alec again, headlines and formalities had never been part of their relationship even when he was still a servant in the prince's house, "you quarrelled with Anathema, or even better, you got in trouble with Beelzebub. " He said crossing the room with the bowl of fresh fruit to take a seat beside Lucien. The latter spread his arm to make room for him and let it fall around his shoulders in an unconscious grip.  
"I don't think it's such a simple situation," Lucien said joining the game. "You should have seen him at the palace the other day, it’s something big this time."  
Alec made an amused verse relaxing against him, his head on his shoulder and a hand resting on his knee.  
Seeing them like this almost made Crowley forget the cause of his visit. He had a visceral affection for those two people who, although not linked by blood, were part of his family.  
Almost.  
Days went by, but the sensation of Aziraphale's body against his was still vivid in his memories.  
Frustrated he ran a hand through his long loose hair. "I bought a slave to spite Gabriel." He started uncertainly. No comment came to interrupt him, they teased him but now his guests waited in a tension-free silence that he would unravel his thoughts. "His name is Aziraphale, he's around twenty." He had to force words to come out as images of the boy rushed into his mind. "He is very smart, our teacher is enthusiastic about him, and he is kind and innocent despite having gone into the slave trade."  
Crowley fell back into silence not sure about what else to say.  
"He looks like a nice guy," guessed Lucien after a minute. "What are his responsibilities?"  
The prince looked at him lost, raising a hand just to let it fall, resting his weight forward on his knees and peering at the floor.  
"I called him in my bed," he said softly, "but I didn't... touch him."  
Lucien and Alec exchanged an unnoticed look. Alec was struggling to hold a grin in front of Lucien's eyebrows raised in awe. The slave nodded his head at Crowley before getting up clearing his throat.  
"I'm going to get something to drink," he announced walking away. Lucien followed him with his eyes until he disappeared before returning attention to his guest.  
"Crowley," he said quietly. "Why you didn't have your way with him?"  
"I do not know! I keep asking that to myself and I really don't know! He is a slave! The world is full of it, why should he be different? Why is he a virgin? It is certainly not the first one I had and yet the idea seems profane to me! " Despite the vehemence of the words, the tone was tired. Crowley had once again let himself go backwards, staring into the void.  
Lucien took a breath while meditating on his next words.  
"You don't have to do it." He said cautiously. "No one is forcing you."  
The simple statement hit Crowley like a cold shower. He stared at Lucien with his mouth wide open.  
"But I ... I want him." As soon as the words left his lips, he realized that it was the truth he kept refusing. He wanted Aziraphale desperately.  
Lucien gave him a smile full of affection.  
"You like him." He said simply and Crowley blazed.  
"I'm not a girl!"  
"And what's that got to do with it?" Lucien glanced in the direction where Alec disappeared. “Having a sexual attraction for someone is not that uncommon, on the contrary! Instead, being attracted to what is beyond appearances is different. Think about what you told me: not even once you mention Aziraphale's physical appearance, because you don't care." Crowley's jaw dangled in the air again and Lucien let out a laugh. “Why so surprised? When we met, I doubt it was my aged appearance that attracted your attention. "  
"You were my present age, what do you mean by old?" Crowley replied sourly. "And I also think I have widely expressed how much I appreciated your body!"  
"I'd say it's an understatement," said Alec, returning with a tray that he left on the low table between them. “The whole house could hear you; your windows faced the internal courtyard. I lost count of the young maids you traumatized. " This time he took his place on Lucien's lap, his voice was devoid of jealousy, but he draped himself possessively against his man. Not that Lucien was complaining surrounding him with his arms and kissing his neck like a welcome back.  
Crowley took a glass sipping the wine with a smile. He didn't regret giving Alec to Lucien, even if it meant losing his first lover and mentor, he cared about them and seeing them happy warmed his heart.  
"So," said Alec, shaking himself from Lucien's caresses, "what's the situation with this Aziraphale?"  
"I don't know," said Crowley lightly, "I haven't seen him in days." He took another sip before realizing that the other two were no longer smiling.  
"What does it mean?" Alec asked, narrowing his eyes.  
"Well ..." Suddenly he felt like a kid on the verge of a lecture. "Sleeping with him became... complicated, so I spent the last few nights in another room."  
"And what did you say to him?" He asked, his voice even sharper.  
"Nothing?"  
Alec seemed about to explode but made a visible effort to hold back the anger.  
"Let's see if I got it right: you bought a young slave who you called in your bed without taking advantage of it even though you shared many nights with him, then you disappeared without explanation?"  
Crowley looked at Lucien for help, but he found only disappointment.  
"Crowley," said the man, "you certainly made good saving that boy from Gabriel, but in doing so he became your responsibility, you cannot wash your hands of him because you are scared."  
"Me? Scared?" Crowley said irritated.  
"Yes you, airhead!" Alec snapped. “While you bask into your position as a spotless and fearless hero, too noble to take advantage of the young man he saved, that poor boy has no idea what is going on in your head! And if you think he is less miserable only because he sleeps between silk sheets instead of on a cell you are an idiot! " Lucien hugged him and Alec calmed down a little, but his disappointed look hurt more than the heated words, if possible.  
The tangle of confused feelings that ate up Crowley's insides was finally gone but now a bitter feeling took its place.  
"I better go." He said softly, waving them and hurrying off.  
As he left Lucien sank his face into Alec's neck with an indistinct verse.  
"Our little Crowley is growing up." He said, then leaving a gentle kiss against Alec's smooth skin that shivered.  
"He is still an idiot, think about that poor boy, I feel like slapping him, prince or not." He muttered, turning around in his embrace, taking Lucien's face in his hands. "But I have to say it, he reminds me of another young nobleman who, years back, struggled to admit his feelings for a slave."  
"Mmm, what a bad man, instead I remember this slave with such a strong character that he kept a poor suitor on the edge for an eternity." He spoke brushing his lips, tightening the grip of his arms around him. Years passed but his feelings rather than fading doubled.  
"Idiot." Alec murmured before closing the gap between them by pressing his lips to his. Lucien let out a small happy moan and for the rest of the afternoon they cut the world out, completely lost in each other.  
-  
The evening found Crowley in front of his beloved mirror. For some days, fearing meeting Aziraphale, he moved his daily evening bath to another smaller bathroom, and he missed his beautiful bathroom dearly.  
He decided to clear up everything. It was not clear to him how to bring out the topic, but if that poor boy was really suffering because of him, the situation had to change.  
"When did I become so pathetic?" His reflection shrugged his shoulders by copying him. "Even if I have a crush where is the problem? I am a bloody prince; I can do what I want! " He pushed his chest out looking at his slender figure in the mirror with a rush of appreciation. Ignoring Aziraphale would not erase the problem, it was time to be a man!  
Charged with that new determination, he marched into his rooms wrapped in a soft nightgown covered by a silk vestment.  
Before he could enter his bedroom, however, he noticed a tray of food waiting for him on a small table along with a piece of paper folded in the corner. Puzzled, he took the note reading the two lines quickly.

_Prince Crowley forgive my daring._   
_The boy barely ate anything today and I allowed myself to prepare a snack in case he is hungry._   
_Ms Tracy_

Crowley picked up the tray irritated, oblivious of his initial intentions, entered the room seizing the blond boy with a glare.  
Aziraphale jumped as he entered, dropping the clothes he was putting away in a chest. He did not expect to see his master and was dumbfounded for a moment, shifting his gaze from the newcomer to the clothes on the floor.  
What was he supposed to do?  
Kneel like Newt?  
Then he realized that Crowley looked angry and carried a tray of food. This sent him on a rampage. If he thought he could disappear in the thin air and then come back just to lecture him about the food, he was very mistaken. A small voice was whispering to him that he was the master and could do whatever he fancied, but Aziraphale silenced it, returning Crowley's gaze with a defiant air.  
Crowley set the tray on the table near the sofa under the window and commanded him imperiously: "Aziraphale come closer."  
The boy crossed the room, stumping his feet but stopping on purpose away from the spot Crowley pointed. Given his reticence, even the prince faced him crossing his arms  
"Why I have been told you haven't eaten, I thought we had an agreement."  
"As if you care." Muttered the slave.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"What do you care? I said." Aziraphale said almost screaming, the formalities forgotten. The emotions in his stomach stirred destabilizing him. He felt he was about to cry, he wanted to hit something or maybe run away in a corner where no one could find him anymore. Maybe all three at once.  
In his angry confusion, the origin of which he couldn't identify, he understood only that it was Crowley's fault.  
Did he want him or not? Did he buy him out of pity to keep him there as an ornament?  
Crowley's eyes widened at his answer, pressing his lips in a very thin line.  
"How dare you answer me like this!"  
"Maybe then you should get rid of me!" Aziraphale replied red in the face not able to control his temper.  
Crowley instinctively raised a hand. Two shiny blue eyes followed the gesture with a flash of fear. This stopped him. Still, with his arm raised, the prince looked at the boy in front of him, looked at him for real ignoring the anger, their positions, his desire, and his pride.  
He saw only a young man on the verge of tears, with red cheeks and a slight tremor running through his whole body.  
He lowered his arm almost in trance and put his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder drawing him forward. Aziraphale, destabilized, took a couple of steps leaning against Crowley to regain his balance and the prince hugged him firmly, sinking his face into the pale locks while slowly rubbing his neck with a thumb to comfort him.  
Aziraphale stirred in his grasp for a while, spitting on him angry words that Crowley didn't even listen, he was so focused on the mad heartbeat of his heart. Finally, the rain of curses ceased, replaced by some hiccups that soon turned into a desperate cry. The slave clung to him tugging on his dressing gown while tears soaked the refined silk: Crowley couldn't care less, he continued to rock him whispering gently that everything was fine.  
He held him until the sobs slowly stopped. Then Crowley took a seat on the sofa pulling the boy to sit on his legs, Aziraphale hid an embarrassed expression in the man neck, his hands still clawed at his clothes. Crowley let him do it, stroking his hair with one hand while holding the other resting on his thigh left naked by a slit in Aziraphale's night robe. It wasn't meant to be a sexual touch, he just wanted to give the boy some comfort.  
The minutes passed slowly, some candles burned until they went out, leaving the room in darkness.  
"I don't want to leave." Aziraphale murmured finally starting to tremble with his face still hidden.  
Crowley lifted his hand from his leg to rest it gently on his cheek and raised his face to meet his eyes. He had that fearful look again, the one the prince was starting to loathe.  
He placed his forehead against Aziraphale's, surrounding him with his other arm in an attempt to calm his shivering.  
"Never." He whispered to him his voice full of emotions before placing his lips on Aziraphale's.  
The boy stretched into his arms, letting out a small surprised moan. Crowley started to retreat, fearing that he had startled him, but a firm grip on the front of his tunic kept him back.  
He smiled against those soft lips squeezing him more as if he wanted to hide him from the rest of the world.  
It was clear immediately that Aziraphale wasn't sure what to do, he kept pressing their lips together, rubbing them lightly; so, Crowley gently took charge of the situation by introducing the tongue into the kiss.  
He barely licked the inexperienced lips until they parted like a flower for him. Aziraphale moaned louder when Crowley entered his mouth, with a small choked cry when their tongues met.  
The prince himself was unable to refrain from moaning because of the tumult of his own emotions. He had no clear memory of his first kiss, after all, he was slightly drunk on that occasion; but distant adolescent fantasies revolved around such an image: almost in the dark, with his heart beating frantically and a special person.  
He finally accepted the fact that Aziraphale was more special to him than anyone else.  
He pulled away breathlessly, pleased by noticing that fear had vanished from his partner, leaving room for an almost hopeful expression.  
He was adorable.  
"I wronged you." He said gently. “And this will change. But you have to eat something now. " He reached out to the tray, taking a slice of apple, and bringing it to his mouth.  
After a small hesitation, Aziraphale accepted it and Crowley gave him a quick kiss in the mouth to reward him. Between kisses they finished the apple and began a bunch of grapes, Aziraphale took the last grain personally and with a boldness that surprised Crowley in the most positive way: he took it between his teeth, looking up at him in a shy invitation.  
The prince bent forward closing his teeth on the grain which soon dissolved, replaced by their tongues busy on chasing each other.  
Crowley put an arm under the boy's legs and lifted him up, enjoying his surprised squeal. He dropped him on the bed, turning his back to blow out the last candles before following him.  
"Are you staying tonight?" Aziraphale asked him innocently and he surrounded him with one arm, pulling him close.  
"Yes." He replied, feeling the tension that followed him since that first fateful night finally come loose. He took off his glasses, groping them on the bedside table, reluctant to part from the boy even for a moment.  
They had a lot to define and surely their relationship would change with time, but now he was no longer terrified. For the first time since he left that bed, he finally slept peacefully.


	4. The Master and the Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those two may need an extra help.  
> Enter Anathema  
> -  
> Non one found out the Easter egg in the last chapter so the game is still on!

[ ](https://ibb.co/yPLhqCZ)

_  
Ambassador Gabriel _

_ We were surprised to learn that the slave named Aziraphale is not in your possession. I don't think we need to explain how serious this is. We hope that you will resolve the situation as soon as possible. _

_ In faith _

_ Michael _

Gabriel furious crumpled the message. Somehow in Europe, they found out about the situation before he could find a solution; and those two lines that might seem harmless to an observer were pregnant with a threat. In the past weeks, he tried to approach Crowley about the matter, he hoped that after a first moment the prince would get bored of the slave, but everything he got was allusive jokes and the whole court laughing at him.

Word got out that he was obsessed with a slave Crowley had stolen from under his nose and everyone seemed very amused by the situation. What was most incomprehensible to him was Crowley's popularity.

He was a damned bastard prince with no right to the throne and promiscuous habits. Yet the entire population and a large part of the court, including the sultan, were crazy about him. He had a reputation as a womanizer with a soft heart and the ambassador could not understand what he meant.

He instructed Uriel to gather information about him and what came out was a confused portrait of a man who, on one hand, was a loving family man, attentive to the welfare of his slaves and who had never forced anyone to share his bed. On the other hand, rumours said he bedded half of the court, slaves included, he was characterized by a poor attitude to respect rules and traditions, and for some reason, he walked around half-naked most of the times.

He was apparently obsessed with integrating European customs into local ones, and this ranged from adopting a mixed wardrobe to a buying and selling of European goods that had made his fortune.

Gabriel poured himself another glass of wine, boiling with anger.

"I have to assume it's not good news." The ambassador glanced at his host. Prince Beelzebub sat in the richly carved wooden chair like a throne, occasionally sipping from his glass.

"Judge yourself." He handed him the letter, pouring himself a drink and then moving a chess pawn on the board.

Their alliance was born for their common goals but over time they found themselves appreciating each other's company, they shared a strong ambition and a latent sense of dissatisfaction with their position, as well as hatred for Prince Crowley of course.

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow.

"Definitely bad news."

"That's not good, I thought I was going to fix this before he knew it."

"At this point, I'd say it's clear that my brother won't let go of that slave easily, we'll have to ... find another way."

"We are going to need someone inside." Gabriel thought aloud.

"Maybe we have someone."

The ambassador looked at him in surprise.

“There is a silly little man I placed in my brother's house years ago. I was hoping he could get his hands on some documents relating to my brother's businesses but Crowley has always kept him away from his company, I don't know if Crowley knows he was my spy. Anyway, I broke my connections with him but I'm pretty sure he still works for my brother. He could be the right person. "

"Do you think he would still work for you after all these years."

A flash passed in the prince's eyes. "I have no doubts, he continues to send me useless reports regularly, although he doesn't receive a cent from me anymore."

"The right combination of sneaky and ignorant."

"I knew you would appreciate it." Beelzebub moved the bishop. "The move is yours."

-

Aziraphale woke slowly. Sunlight came in through the window and illuminated the room. It must have been early morning because the house was still quiet.

The boy had a strange feeling within himself that he could hardly recognize as happiness. Prince Crowley was hugging him in his sleep, and vivid memories of the night before came back insistently to flush his cheeks.

During the slavery, he used to though that finding a master would be a nightmare, the were tales whispered between the slaves which fed indefinite nightmares about violent and perverse men in the boy's mind. When he became a slave he did not know that two men could lie together and he also had confused ideas about intimacy with women.

When that man, Gabriel, appeared in his cell he seemed the embodiment of his worries but then Crowley came out of nowhere. That strange man, so different from any other man Aziraphale had ever met, with that unusually long, flaming hair like the sunset.

Aziraphale found himself observing him closely, examining the details of his relaxed face, only partially covered by the mask he wore over his eyes to sleep, at some point in the night he must have woken up and worn it because he surely didn't have it when they went to bed. Aziraphale was curious to know what was so special about his eyes, on the other hand, it was just one of the many details that fascinated him.

Like the tattoo.

He had glimpsed it before, half-hidden under his clothes, but now he could finally admire it in its entirety. It represented a snake, wrapped around Crowley's right arm, rising along the shoulder disappearing partly behind his back, the coils seemed almost alive, animated by the flickering of the muscles when the man moved, but the detail that caught the eyes of Aziraphale was the open jaws of the reptile: the design ended on Crowley's neck, just behind the jaw, simulating a snake ready to bite.

It was mesmerizing.

Aziraphale hadn't noticed that he had inadvertently reached for the drawing when a warm hand closed over his.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley said in a thick voice.

“I… I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you…” He started to retract his fingers but Crowley pulled him closer, putting his hand on his neck and wrapping his arms around him with a satisfied sigh.

"What time is it?" He grunted in his neck.

A shiver went through Aziraphale at the sensation of her lips against his Adam's apple.

"Early I think ..."

"Mmmnnh ..." Crowley said squeezing him against him. "Good, I don't want to get up." He added in a plaintive, almost childish tone that made Aziraphale smile. His fingers went up from the man's neck to his long hair; unable to resist, he trailed between his soft locks, completely enchanted by the thousand shades of the fiery hair. Crowley moaned happily pushing himself against the caress, giving him tacit permission to continue.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Aziraphale continued to weave his long fingers into the auburn locks.

When the servants finally knocked to wake the prince, Crowley was in a beaming mood. Generally waking him up was a real effort, but this morning the servants ran around him, hurrying to help him with the robes, surprised by his unusual mood while the prince cheered cheerfully, urging them to hurry up because he was famished.

He entered the dining room almost dancing, kissed Anathema's hand and bowed to a surprised Newt before taking his seat at the table.

Anathema didn't speak immediately, watching him sigh as he stared at the centrepiece. She had a firm suspicion that a certain blond boy was the cause of the weird behaviour.

"Anything new you want to share dear?" Anathema asked with frowns as she scrutinized him.

"You want to renew? As you wish my dear." He replied with a radiant smile that turned into a grimace as he realized what he just said.

Anathema opened her mouth in a flash of understanding.

"YOU DID ..."

"I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING!" Crowley yelled at her before the neighbourhood had a new rumour to talk about.

"Nothing too serious at least." He then added in a lower voice, teasing the vegetables on his plate, red in the face.

"It depends, how seriously were you undressed?"

"I'm done!" Crowley thundered, jolting on his feet and marching out.

"Please tell me I have a meeting on the other side of town." He asked exasperated of his attendee, Sergeant Shadwell, who claimed to be called by that title even though he had never seen a day of military service. The elderly man wasn't the best of officials, or even just a decent official, but was loyal and married to the cook, so Crowley ended up finding him a position in his service and welcomed the couple inside of his house. A loyal servant was better these days than a great servant, and Crowley didn't have such a busy life that required massive organizational effort.

"Actually, Ambassador Gabriel would be waiting for you in your study."

"Thing? Can't you tell him I'm not there? "

"I could, but I'm afraid he overheard your exchange with the mistress ... like everyone else in the building and surroundings."

Crowley snorted, then a bad idea occurred to him.

"Sergeant Shadwell, I need you to deliver a message, I suppose you can find him in the garden at the moment," Crowley said scribbling a couple of lines quickly. If Gabriel had thought he could ruin his day he was very wrong.

-

_ Angel. _

_ Could you join me in the study? I have a guest but ignore him as well. Come as soon as you can. _

_ C. _

Aziraphale entered the house intrigued, he had never been in Crowley's office. Why now? Was it because of his host? Since leaving the slave market he remained exclusively within the confines of the prince's abode.

His curiosity soon turned to hesitation. Entering the study he didn't immediately notice the man sitting in an armchair in front of the sofa where Crowley was sitting. He got distracted with the prince who, at his appearance, gave him a blinding smile. Aziraphale had never been the kind of person who provoked those kinds of reactions in people; the sensation of warmth that nestled in his stomach from that morning spread to his face.

"Angel," said the prince and the slave felt his cheeks ablaze at the nickname, if it was embarrassing to read, hearing the prince calling him that was even worse. "Come here, Mrs Tracy says you should have a mid-morning snack too." He reached out to him and Aziraphale approached in a trance, letting himself be dragged on the prince's lap with one arm surrounding him.

"Do you remember Ambassador Gabriel? You've already met once although I don't think any official introductions have been made. "

Aziraphale watched the elegantly dressed man, stiffening. He didn't like that guy, from the first moment he had looked at him with a scheming look that had made him shiver as if he were a piece of meat rather than a person.

Fortunately, Crowley seemed to notice his discomfort because the hand resting low on his back went up until it intertwined with his hair and the prince made him lean against his shoulder, while with the other hand he gently picked up the grapes to feed him.

"See angel, the ambassador wondered how you were doing here if everything was going well. As you can see my dear Gabriel, things could not be better, everyone here loves our Zira and he is now a part of the family." Crowley bent down stopping with his lips a droplet that escaped to Aziraphale after the last grain and the boy moaned involuntarily embarrassed.

When he looked back at their guest Crowley noticed with a wave of satisfaction the swollen vein on his neck. Gabriel seemed under the illusion that he could trick him with his falsely kind ways but the situation was starting to annoy him. It had been more than two months since he had stolen Aziraphale, it was not the first trick he pulled on him and certainly, it would not have been the last. 

Why didn't the man forget it? If there was one thing Crowley couldn't stand was being pressed and if he had to make out with Aziraphale in front of the man he wasn't going to back up.

After all, it wasn't such a great sacrifice to kiss that sweet boy, he couldn't wait to spend some time alone with him.

Gabriel hastily greeted him after the display and Crowley watched him leave full of suspicion. He was beginning to think there was more to that fixation: Gabriel wasn't just angry with him, he even seemed worried if not panicked.

Aziraphale also took leave to join Warlock and Adam, nanny Ashtoreth promised to help them build a model of a boat and the trio didn't talk about anything else for days.

"Sergeant Shadwell," Crowley called and the man arrived grumbling as usual. "You should find some information for me."

Nobody noticed Gabriel passing a small piece of paper to Tyler on the way out.

-

The episode was soon forgotten by Aziraphale. Also complicit the new attention that Crowley reserved for him. The prince, although he had not yet tried to go all the way with him, seemed determined to drive him mad. He kissed him for a long time every night, sometimes tormenting him until he lost his mind, sometimes leaving him excited and dizzy, unable to sleep. Aziraphale was certainly not an expert in the field of intimacy, he had never known such pleasure and yet something told him that there was much more to it than those short sessions which, although extremely pleasant, many times ended without even taking off their clothes. The problem was that he didn't know how to express what was on his mind.

On one hand, he wanted more, on the other he did not know what this 'more' could entail and he was scared.

He was sure Crowley would ever hurt him but even being treated like he was made of crystal started to irritate him. He felt his rebellious side emerging again, he didn't even know he had one before Crowley. More and more he found himself contemplating behaviours that he knew would anger the prince and restrain himself was every day harder.

For God's sake! He didn't even understand why he wanted to tease his master; slaves had to be obedient and submissive.

No?

A gentle voice drew him out of the dark labyrinth of his thoughts.

"Aziraphale, dear, it pains me to interrupt your thoughts but you should cut the dry leaves, not the flowers." Brother Francis had his hands up and a streak of concern in his voice. That young boy was so dear but he was obviously troubled by something right now, and the way he handled those shears made the poor gardener thankful not to be the cause of his bad mood.

The blond examined the pile of cut corollas at his feet for a second before regretfully putting down the murder weapon.

"I'm terribly sorry Brother Francis, maybe it's best if I go inside."

"Of course, dear, rest a little, you look tired."

Aziraphale entered the house.

Over the weeks he had learned to fill his days, but in that strange state of limbo, he found himself wandering the corridors of the big house aimlessly, with his mind so full of indefinite thoughts that there was little space to pay attention to the surrounding.

He couldn't put a name to that feeling of emptiness, at times it almost felt like he was close to grasping the elusive concept, but each time it slipped away just out of his reach.

It was frustrating.

And it was frustrating not to understand why it was frustrating.

He had unconsciously fastened his pace, dominated by that growing nervousness, he felt the need to scream but at the same time, he felt stupid for this desire.

The vortex he was drowning in was abruptly interrupted by a bump followed by a scream and Aziraphale found himself pressed against another body.

"Aziraphale!" Said a peremptory voice and the boy looked up to meet the wide-open eyes of the mistress Anathema looking at him through the glasses that hung crookedly over her nose.

He felt his eyes itching and a lump in his throat, before he could realize what was happening he found himself crying.

Anathema looked around lost, she was ready to lecture the young slave, who, as nice as he might be, couldn't run into the house like that but the tears took her by surprise. Despite everything, she found herself patting the boy's shoulders shaken by the cry.

"Newt... be nice help Aziraphale up." The man rushed to her side and together they pulled him to his feet. Her quarters were not far away and she decided to lead the slave away from prying eyes before rumours could spread. Unfortunately, she didn't notice the angry look that followed them until they disappeared through the door of her rooms.

Tyler was fuming with anger. Not only the prince but also the mistress were subjected to that useless slave. He had to rush his plan. Animated by a new decision, he quickly wrote a few lines and handed them over to a slave to be delivered to his new accomplice. Heaven had sent him the answer to all his problems and he would not be deaf to the call. With an evil grin, he disappeared into his rooms, basking in a foretaste of revenge.

-

Aziraphale, eyes still red, sipped his tea with gratitude. He never tasted one so good and the sweet flavour chased away the bitter aftertaste he had in his mouth for days.

Anathema watched him from above her cup, while she lowered her hand to caress Newt's hair who, as always, after serving tea, knelt next to her. The blond boy followed the gesture sideways, giving her the cue to start the conversation.

“Tell me Aziraphale. How are you doing here? " The boy looked at her lost, tearing her a smile. "Nanny Ashtoreth tells me that you are a model student and my children love you, I know they are two troublemakers don't worry."

"Oh! No, Adam and Warlock are two adorable children ... "

"Am I wrong or did they tie the Wenslydays son to a tree?"

"They were playing the Arabian Inquisition."

"They locked you in a room for two hours."

"I had to find clues to get out, but I'm not very good at this game."

"My husband had a nervous breakdown not finding you."

The boy flushed and hid in the cup of tea again.

The woman observed the relationship between the two from a distance. She was convinced that the situation improved, but evidently, there had been a new stopping point. She generally remained at a distance from her husband's lovers, but she had grown fond of the boy.

She had never been inclined to interfere but this time she decided she would take matters into her own hands; she also had a long tradition of mutual jokes with her husband and could not miss this opportunity.

-

"A party?" Crowley's voice rang out in the courtyard a few days later.

"Do you know those occasions when we all get together to celebrate some event?"

"I know what a party is! But I don't see why! " When Anathema had approached them with a mocking smile, he knew he was going to get a migraine.

The afternoon had started so well: he was sitting between soft cushions on a comfortable veranda near the pool, Aziraphale was reading a tome he had on his legs, leaning against him while the prince enjoyed the pleasant breeze. Occasionally he fed figs to the boy who blushed deliciously every time their eyes met. Since they made up it seemed to him that a weight had been lifted from his chest, Aziraphale was sweet and innocent, so adorably oblivious to his beauty, and his quick mind was ravenous for books. Nanny Ashtoreth, generally stern and impassive, never missed an opportunity to sing his praises, Brother Francis was no exception, and even grumpy Sergeant Shadwell seemed to have a soft spot for the young man, whom he occasionally instructed about the ancient history of his military order that he made up.

"Don't you think your children's birthday is worth celebrating?" The woman put a hand to her mouth with a mock shocked expression.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zira sink behind the book, certainly hiding a smile.

Perfect, he was surrounded.

"Anathema, you know very well that usually for their birthday we invite their friends to spend the night here, why don't you tell me directly what do you want?"

The woman put her hands on her hips resolutely.

"I want to organize a party for the beginning of summer, a great thing, our children's birthday is a great occasion, kids can disappear and make pillow forts in their room and us adults can socialize a little!"

"And since when do you like parties?"

"Is it a no?"

"If I tell you it's okay, will you leave me alone?"

"Excellent!" She exclaimed turning on her heels.

Crowley made an indistinct cry as he sank into the pillows.

"Just one last thing," Anathema's voice reached him from the door. "I'll be borrowing Aziraphale in the next few days!" He told him disappearing inside before his wife could protest.

"WHAT?"

Aziraphale looked at him puzzled.

"Master?" Crowley swallowed heavily. He had never been very attached to titles, especially inside his home, but he discovered that he liked being called that; a lot. He drew him to himself, moving the book that had diverted his angel's attention from him. Aziraphale surrendered to the movement closing his eyes a second before their lips met: his inexperience was still there, present in the little hands that hesitated to rest on his chest and the warm tongue that never took the initiative even though it was always an enthusiastic participant of their kisses.

Crowley kissed him slowly squeezing him, his small body over his, before letting him hide his face against his neck. He knew well that that embarrassment originated from their position, they were exposed to the gaze of anyone who passed by. What Aziraphale ignored was that the prince struggled to keep his possessiveness under control and had given orders that no one would come near that corner of the palace in the afternoon.

He was unwilling to share Aziraphale with anyone, not even an involuntary observer.

In the meantime, his hand had slipped along the delicate curve of his back until it closed on a firm buttock hidden under the boy's light clothes. Aziraphale uttered a verse of surprise and stared at him with wide eyes, red as the sunset.

"Master!"

He pounced on those lips with renewed vigour, bringing his second hand to the small ass that tormented his thoughts. They hadn't gone all the way and Crowley still couldn't bring himself to take a step in that direction, he'd found himself contemplating the idea several times, especially when Aziraphale looked at him panting in a nest of messy blankets after coming with one of his adorable little cries.

But he couldn't.

And in the end, he was happy with the balance they had found, allowing himself a certain intimacy but preserving the boy's virtue.

A certain part of his body hated him for this, but he could not get out of the murky mass of thoughts that revolved around the young blond who was clawing his excited chest, trembling with embarrassment and pleasure.

"Please ..." he pleaded with his beautiful shiny blue eyes.

He probably didn't even know what he was begging him for.

Crowley flipped them over onto the cushions and moved to draw a curtain to separate their alcove from the rest of the space. In a second he was lying on top of him again kissing him as Zira's feet kicked the sides of his legs, his body arched to seek more friction.

Aziraphale had proved to be extremely sensitive to Crowley's delight who, fiddling with his robes, closed a hand on him, contenting himself with the shocks of excitement that crossed his back with each muffled moan. Aziraphale clung to him, forgetful of everything, wriggling completely at the mercy of the waves of pleasure.

His moans grew louder and louder until he let out a prolonged scream as he plunged his nails into the prince's biceps.

The boy fell back on the pillows, trying to catch his breath. Crowley fixed his eyes on him moving on to deal with his painful erection, it was not so easy to orgasm since his teens, but Aziraphale had a bad effect on his self-control as the facts had shown.

Within a minute he had collapsed next to him, recovering himself. He welcomed his lover in his arms with a smile, again submerged in embarrassment.

"Oh my God ..." The boy groaned with his face on fire.

Crowley's laughter rang out as he covered his face with kisses, distracting him once again from the world beyond that colourful curtain.

  
  



End file.
